


Why?

by Being_Delirious



Series: Makonsensya Ka Sana [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Depression, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, No Romance, References to Depression, Sad Ending, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Being_Delirious/pseuds/Being_Delirious
Summary: Who is BadBoyHalo?In front of the monitor, he is BadBoyHalo.There's nothing worth heartbreaking than someone who had tried to grasp all hope to end up losing all of it again.He tried. They were only an hour too late.~ (A prequel to Who is BadBoyHalo?)
Series: Makonsensya Ka Sana [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010241
Comments: 17
Kudos: 120





	Why?

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags, a warning had been placed. This content contains darkest, most vicious, nefarious thoughts and GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF SUICIDE; whoever suffers from this needs to seek help. Let it be therapy or someone to talk with, your choice as long as it's a healthy coping mechanism. Suicide is NEVER the answer.
> 
> You'll never know what you'll miss in the future. 
> 
> With that being said, grab your tissues and comfort blankets ready cause it's about to get dark.

**I** t was dipping in the early morning when lashes fluttered and eyelids brought up to reveal a pair of dull forest-green eyes with light redness tinges at the sides. When Bad forced himself to sit up, he quickly regretted the hasty action when it caused a wanton headache; vision hazy and the familiar catapult of his throat constricting brought the man off his bed and unto the bathroom.

Turning the faucet on, Bad flinched at the sudden coldness when he brought his hands to cup some water. Scraping up enough courage, he was reminded of the last time he even took a shower. Four days? Almost a week? 

Splashing some water on his face, he ignored how the hairs of his skin stood, relishing the deliberate way the liquid ran over his face. Turning the tap off, the brown-haired man grabbed the edges of the sink, conscious at how ice-cold the porcelain fixture felt under his touch. It was peculiar for him, considering he had only felt nothing but numbness from the few months he had been awake.

Pity, disgust, hatred, every negative and felt needed emotions travelled through him in spite. When he looked up, he was immediately greeted by a sight he thoroughly thinks of a stranger. In front of him, displayed as an apparition of all disgrace he desperately tried to scrub off stared right back at him. BadBoyHalo's eyes were puffy, the ring around being considerably swollen from the past crying that occurred hours before he passed out. 

Bad glared. Glared harder thinking the manifestation of all things he'd considered unlovable would run away; disappear and fade into the darkness of hollowed shadows he had always denied of being buried under.

He imagines his image reciprocating the hate he gives. Wishing for him to disappear just as he had prayed for. Staring up ahead, it screamed at him. Cursing him out loud for being useless, a disappointment; living. How much of a reckless, unwanted leech he has become. Nobody wanted him; everybody wanting nothing but for him to wipe off the face of the earth.

It yells as him as much as it suffocates him. The constant buzzing, awful noises of voices that whips him with words that had him believing to be real. It made Bad want to scratch at his throat, throw up whatever vile parasite that possessed him to be this worthless bag.

He glanced at the mirror once again and immediately regretted it. His hair was sticky, either from sweat or the lack of getting it washed, he doesn't know. The corner of his eyes wrinkled in disgust, his lips cracked from hydration-

Water. He needs water. When was the last time he drank one?

Bad licked his lips, trying to salvage them from the lack of saliva the caused his throat to dry. A drink. He needs a drink.

The man walked out of his bathroom, realizing too late when he stumbled on his steps and barely catching himself on the counter separating the living room and kitchen. His grip tight on the sturdy fixture, willing his legs to move despite the lack of strength. 

Stomach growling, making him aware of his meal defiance. He had lost weight at an unhealthy rapid pace. Bad could practically feel his eyes sunken unto his skull; collarbone and elbows protruding his skin, a disgrace. 

Then again, Bulimia had been his friend ever since a fan pointed out the roundness of his face. What other solution was there? With a few throws and avoidance, the urge to eat went away. Along with his will to self-righteousness. No food has ever enticed him ever again.

It took him two minutes to lift a cup from the cupboard. Three to will the fridge open and bring a pitcher out, best one and a half for spilling the contents of the said pitcher unto his glass cup. Hands shaky and trembling, he brought the edge of his cup to his lips and with greed, downed it all in four huge gulps.

The action, of course, triggered his lungs to violently cough, wheezing hard for oxygen to enter again. 

_Pathetic._

He gritted his teeth, tired of being weak and left sullen. Bad pushed himself up, avoiding the way his legs tremble in each step he takes towards the front of his computer. He hated it, the need to act as if everything was fine and dandy. He wants out.

He took a seat. His computer blaring and the familiarity of everything else settled in force of habit. Typing letters, checking on his server, TeamSpeak, Youtube... nobody seemed to be awake at the crack of dawn. He navigated through his system, clawing desperation and hopelessness in his chest when he took note of the comments, annoyed wishes, pointing out his deficiency. 

He clutched the mouse when the man felt a crack. What more could they want? He's trying his best– _no_. This isn't what the icon they followed. He wasn't the character they pictured in their heads, the image of a man with green eyes, brown hair and black hoodie.

Who is BadBoyHalo?

In front of the monitor, he is BadBoyHalo. 

BadBoyHalo is supposed to be the optimistic, joyful muffin that crops out cursing. 

BadBoyHalo is good, helpful, hopeful, nice, kind, sweet—annoying, dumb, unworthy.

BadBoyHalo is a ~~disgrace~~ , ~~talkative~~ , ~~attention-seeker~~ , _fakefakefake_ — _nothingnothingnothing_ _uglybrokenforcedhelplessuselessuselessuseless_ _-_

BadBoyHalo is a character everyone loves. A friendly, caring, and humble character. The hardcore but gentle; ruthless but careful.

He's supposed to be the post everyone leans on when needed. The sturdy, unbreakable support they need.

But the man, Darryl, was tired. 

He is no character with forever power of optimism. He's a human with flaws that cracks and breaks, curses and drinks. Darryl was as ordinary as he gets.

He is tired of having nobody to lean on. 

When everyone gets up on the podium, he remains in the shadows, cast away like some sort of broken toy no longer use. He lifts them up, gloats and boasts, proud of everyone's accomplishments like a badge worn on his sleeve. He helps them on the boat and in return they leave him on the island with little to no devices. 

Of course, how could Darryl forget? Nobody likes a goody-two-shoes, humble, and kind front. What they want is someone who flaunts, curses, loud, and greedy. A pretty face with a lot of money and energy to compete on the leaderboards. 

He was nobody.

When the cam popped up on his monitor, all ill thoughts came to a stuttering halt. Darryl stared back at Darryl in his monitor, raising one hand up; the other mimicked his action. The quality of his new webcam was still shit; he awfully chortled with a pained grin.

Yet it showed everything just the same as the mirror in his bathroom. Dimmed, tired eyes stared right back at his empty, emotionless ones. It struck him odd at how much he'd actually changed.

He started recording.

"Hi-" his voice croaked, hoarse from being raw just a few moments ago. He garbled out a sigh and waited for a few seconds before eventually letting go. "Hey, it's me, BadBoyHalo-" the man visibly winced and cringed at his own tone, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.

The brunette took a shaky inhale, his breath croaking out with a terrible tremble. "No, I'm- I'm Darryl, and I'm someone same as you." 

Hands turned into fists, nails digging into his palm, threatening to draw blood. 

"I'm- I'm a regular muffin," he winced, "and I'm tired."

Darryl's voice broke along with his shell. It teared him up, having to break focus in front of a camera. It stung, hurt, and suffocate so much that he dropped his head down when a sob bobbed in his throat.

"I act so naively, so dumb and annoying—" he spat, soft voice becoming hard with the mixture of venom and mocking, reciting the comments' words. "—innocent and pure, but I'm done."

He brought a hand up, forcing to wipe out tears from behind his glasses even when a batch of new ones quickly came and replaced them. 

"I'm so clueless and silly, isn't that right, George? Sapnap?"

The bottle shook from the inside; a whirlwind of the contents inside made the glass exterior crack, slowly, piece-by-piece. He started listing everything that made the cork tight and pushed. The reminders of all the things he has done, the excuses and brushes he made.

He just wanted to avoid conflict; They were only sleep-deprived, right? Right? RIGHT? After all, it's what he kept telling himself. 

Oh, they made comments behind his back? That's fine, it was late, they were tired.

Oh, they argued and one's too stubborn? That's alright, he'll just apologize first, every damn single time.

Oh, ignore him for not being as coy or for having a lesser fanbase in general? It's okay, he'll be there for them anyway.

A hand slammed on the desk, the webcam shook along with the other contents on the table. He forced a smile on his face, uncaring if the tears in his eyes roll down, causing to obscure his glasses by moist. He snapped.

"Oh, just push all of BadBoyHalo's limits because why not? I always end up forgiving all of you in the end anyway!" He wheezed, chuckled with a force that hurts his throat. "Because it's always so fun to see me rage either way. Mess with my head, mock me, laugh at me, it is all fucking fine!" He inhaled, obnoxious and loud through his nostrils, taking a snot along with him.

"And- and— _Dream, Skep-!_ " 

He choked, the ugly smile on his face wavering when he caught the sight of himself in front of the screen. His face had already turned red, hair tangled in a disarray. _Pathetic._

The man slumped back down on the chair, loss with words; the venom laced at the tip of his tongue had died down. The fire that once burned in his soul, threatening to spread was extinguished, leaving everything in a dark, cold space.

"Who am I kidding?" he laughed, "I can never stay mad at you, muffinheads." 

and that's the thing, he doesn't stay mad. Darryl can pretend how much it boils his blood, act bitter and sultry, but he'll always forgive. Why won't he? That's the golden rule.

Treat others the way you wanted to be treated.

If he's nice, they'll be nice.

If he's kind, they'll be kind.

If he cares... _will they care?_

Gaze casting down to his trembling hands, Darryl couldn't help but squint. Had he been good? Was he a good friend? Did he do his best?

He looked away, turned his head to the side with shame as if a world breaking realization had just hit him. Fumbling with his hand, he abruptly turned off his monitor, not anymore wanting to see the man he's repulsed by.

Darryl's an awful friend. He's worth nothing. They'll be fine without him, they don't need him. Not anymore.

A hook on the ceiling, a rope in his hands. These are the keys he needed to get out of the hole he stubbornly dug for so long. No one to ask help to get him out. 

One, two.. a loop here, over there... three, four... loose, adjust, tight. It fits.

Taking a step down his chair, Darryl glanced up with a bleary vision. His creation, work looking fine and ready. 

The buzzing noise, hushed voices, aching scars seemed to cease upon landing his weary green eyes on the noose. It calls for him, taunting him to take a step, wear it like a piece of mighty jewellery around his neck. A scarf to keep warm from being cold and isolated for too long.

A breath hitched in his throat, reluctance; a great hesitation. He could leave, end it all and be free. Freedom; his escape.

 _All he needs is to_ \- no. He can't. What was he thinking? This isn't the way, it's not the solution. 

His mind screamed at him, everything suddenly felt unstable. The walls were too tall for him to climb over and see the path, nothing was sturdy anymore. He needs help, he can't do this alone.

Stumbling and tripping over himself, the man gripped his hair, wishing and hoping desperately for the war to stop. It screamed at him, scolding him and coaxing him at the same time. He doesn't know what to do.

He needs help.

He needs out.

A lending hand; drop him down.

Stand on his feet; break his legs.

He's desperate for reassurance. Darryl can still claw his way out of this, he just needs someone.

He began to speed dial whoever's on top of the list. 

Ant Frost-

_Line busy-_

Awesamdude-

_Line busy-_

George-

The line picked up. 

Darryl held his breath that got caught in his throat. "Hello-?"

"Hello? Bad? Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now. Can't talk, bye!" It ended with a click, his eyes widened in panic.

He's _gonegonegonegonego_ \- no _,_ no, _no._ It's okay, perhaps the Brit has an important matter to attend to. 

Speaking of the Brit, he knows someone else who's also from Britain. Maybe, _just maybe,_ he could help as well?

He typed in and waited for the phone to ring. The other end picked up,

"Bad?"

The man cleared his throat, "Hey, Finn! I was wondering if we could hang-"

"I'm sorry, wait up." The voice from the other side sounded annoyed, telling whoever is with them to keep it down. "Bad? Hello? Yeah, sorry bud, now's not the time."

"Oh,"

"Yeah, Mega and I are still busy doing our mini-project. We're almost done, you'll see it soon, okay?" 

Darryl held in the disappointment, another thick knot forming at the base of his throat. A threatened sob. "Yeah, yeah... sure" He hangs up.

_He's wasting their time._

_They're busy, stop bothering them._

Sapnap,

Punz,

Boomer,

Red,

Heck, he even resulted in ringing the other iDots members. 

Zelk,

Vurb,

TapL-it all ended in

_line busy,_

_voice message,_

_"Sorry, not right now. We're kinda in the middle of something."_

_"Yeah? Sorry, Bad! Busy, maybe later."_

_"Maybe tomorrow?"_

_"Got me in the wrong time,"_

_"Sorry."_

It was all in vain. The choices he had were slipping one by one, too busy with an event much more crucial and important than him. 

His head was buzzing, heart dropping in each call either going straight to voicemail or being busy. Losing all strength, the hole in his chest only widened. Fresh tears seeped out, his nose scrunched when he fell on his knees beside the foot of the bed. 

Head buried in his arm whilst his hand clutched tightly around his phone, the man let himself sob through his mattress. His shoulders trembled, another hand gripping on the bedsheet as if he held the cloth tighter, he'll be able to hold unto his remnants of hope.

"Please, please, please pick up." He hiccupped, back facing his computer as he kept trying to push back the choked out sobs in his throat. 

The receiver from the other side picked up.

"Hello? Bad?"

The man was quick to scramble, grabbing unto a thread. "Dream! Dream, I- I need help-" his wishes were interrupted with a static. It blurred out his words for the other side and in return, Clay couldn't understand a single word he just uttered. "Dream? Hello?!" Darryl was getting desperate.

From the other line, he could faintly hear two voices calling out for the same man. 

"Dream? What are you doing? Let's go! Chop chop."

It was as if a typhoon had just hit his shell. Every single wall he had built ended up caving in; falling on top of him with no means of escape. The thread, that single string, gave in with a snap causing him to topple backwards, falling deeper to the darkest pit of hollowed emptiness. It engulfed him in eclipse.

Darryl could recognize the voice of Sapnap and George even with through a broken communication. They were yelling out for Dream, telling him to get ready and how they're supposed to be leaving. The same friends he had asked earlier only to tell him how busy they were. 

Guess they really didn't want him anymore, huh? Wanting to spend the time with each other, excluding him entirely from the group.

Darryl didn't even bother answering anymore; didn't matter to try another call. Every confirmation was all there, so why call Skeppy to only end up with the same conclusion? Heck, maybe the guy was spending time with the rest of the iDots right now. 

He didn't remember standing up. Didn't remember dropping his phone by the side; didn't remember walking; didn't remember standing up on the chair and getting his head through the noose. 

What he did remember was securing the tightness around his neck. He remembered inhaling sharply, letting the pain and voices to guide his actions of raising his leg to kick the chair under him. 

He was left swinging, his body instinctively trying to reach something to stand on, to survive. The fall only made the noose tight unto his throat, effectively constructing his airway and, oh, hey, he finally did something useful.

When they said that life flashes right before your eyes just before you're about to die, Darryl didn't expect having to relive every single moment he treasured dearly in his heart. The faces of his friends so happy made his slowing beat ache, silently praying for all of them to be contented. They'll move on, slowly but surely. He knows.

Darryl shut his eyes, forced a smile and let the remaining tears fell to the ground when he heard a voicemail from his phone, it came from Geo.

"Heya Bad, I just wanna say happy birthday to you, buddy! I hope you're doing well and I wish for many more birthdays to come!-" 

a sound of a door slamming open followed by a voice yelling for Spifey to hurry up made the brown-haired man struggle once again. He slipped his fingers between the rope and his neck to try and buy himself more time to breathe despite spots starting to appear in his vision.

"-Geo, what the fuck are you doing? Let's go, the others are on their way to Bad's house and you're literally-" beep

The message ended and his arms fell back to his sides; struggling and thinking coming to an abrupt stop.

Huh, too bad he didn't check the date today.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Tl;dr: Bad suffered from anxiety, insecurities, and depression. With one last hope of survival to get out of the conveyer belt he sat himself on, he tried contacting his friends, unaware that they were actually getting ready for his birthday and doesn't wanna ruin the surprise, they excused themselves.
> 
> He only found out through Spifey's message that it was actually his birthday. Too bad he didn't check the date.


End file.
